A Woman Worth Billions Dated the Wrong Brother novel Chapter 2

I went to Human Resources because I still believed in procedure.

Old habits die hard.

The HR office smelled like recycled air and practiced neutrality. The woman behind the desk looked up when I entered, her smile already strained—like she already knew how this would end.

“I’m here to submit my resignation,” I said, placing the envelope neatly in front of her.

She didn’t touch it.

Instead, she folded her hands and cleared her throat. “Amber… you don’t need to do that.”

I tilted my head. “Why not?”

She hesitated. Then said it.

“Because you were officially terminated this morning.”

Fired.

The word didn’t sting this time.

I smiled.

The HR manager blinked. “I’m… sorry?”

“Don’t be,” I said honestly. “This actually helps.”

Because being fired meant something very important.

It meant Oscar had made the first—and biggest—legal mistake.

She began explaining exit procedures, revoked access, non-disclosure clauses. I nodded politely, even thanked her when she finished. When she slid my badge toward me, I left it on the desk.

“I won’t be needing that,” I said.

I walked out of the building with nothing in my hands. No box. No files. No personal belongings.

I didn’t need them.

The most valuable things I owned were already mine.

The company’s largest properties—the waterfront development, the downtown mixed-use towers, the logistics hubs tied to international contracts—were all under my name. Not out of sentimentality, but necessity. When the company was drowning and investors backed away, I had stepped in.

I paid for them.

I signed the contracts.

And every year, I paid the property taxes myself.

Oscar called it temporary.

I called it survival.

Without those properties, the company wasn’t an empire—it was a beautifully branded illusion.

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped into the lobby feeling lighter with every breath.

That was when I walked straight into someone.

Solid. Immovable. Familiar.

“I’m sorry—” I started, then stopped.

Jason.

Oscar’s half-brother. Older. Taller. Calm in a way that came from knowing exactly where he stood in the world. He wasn’t part of the company—never had been—but he was always nearby, watching from a distance.

He glanced at my empty hands.

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